


Suburbia

by drownoutlove (Sept_Meules)



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Film Student!Dipper, M/M, Pastel Mabel, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Sibling Bonding, Tattoos, The Flesh Curtains, Touring, Young Love, stanchez
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:59:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sept_Meules/pseuds/drownoutlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper's film project is to follow Mabel in her tour around the country opening for the revived 'not your grandparent's band' The Flesh Curtains. </p><p>The Flesh Curtains featuring Shooting Star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old & New

**Author's Note:**

> Drabbles guys. Featuring Punk edits of the Pines Twins, I've uploaded the uncolored version of it on my tumblr butterkiller-blog (sorry I can't link it). 
> 
> I've been drawing this AU in my sketchpad, so I'll share it with you guys in the future, hopefully it'll be colored though.

 

Dipper ducked out the RV and looked out the new city they stopped in. 

He inhaled and let it out. 

This place looked better than the last city. 

They've been traveling for half a year already and it's fucking exhausting. 

He slamming the door close behind him, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of his head telling him he shouldn't have put too much force else he wakes Mabel up from her much deserved sleep. 

He flipped his black-tipped bangs to the side only to fall right back on his forehead, concealing his birthmark. His hand went up to cup his man purse on his hip and the baseball cap on his head and then turned to the guy waiting for him at the foot of the stairs of the other RV beside Mabel and his. 

Morty gave a strained smile, "Ready to go?"

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, man. Lets."

Morty nodded too and picked himself up and lead them out of the trailer park. 

 

 

They were a RV caravan. Three RVs. The purple one was Mabel, Dipper and Grunkle Stan's with Grunkle Stan driving it. The biggest out of the three was the midnight blue where Morty and his grandpa sleep at. And lastly Birdperson and Squanchy's trailer, the most well-kept interior out of the three, it was a steel exterior that did not look like a band's trailer. 

Why were they traveling around?

They're on a tour, you see. 

The Flesh Curtains doing a comeback tour with their newest act, Shooting Star. 

The underground scene loves them. They've been leaving every city with lots of fans added to their fandom. People were practically throwing themselves were Rick spat, where Birdperson walked, and where Squanchy sat. It was undeniably disturbing. 

And Mabel haven't bothered herself with boys and dating anyone. Boys were asking for her number, her signature, any piece of her that they could put in a Ziplock and fondle their balls at. Mabel was the star she was born to be. 

And she's taken her twin brother with her to her rise to fame. 

How they started this whole crazy journey? Let's start at the beginning, not three weeks later. 

Mabel was about to get signed into a girl group with a major recording label. And this girl group was a group she had not met at all for the two years of her training under the company. She was 17 when she started, her excitement could not be deterred. But when she took the contract at home to read through it, she handed it to Great Uncle Ford. 

And as Uncle Ford finished half of it, he turned to her and told her "You're selling your freedom away."

Confused, she made Uncle Ford explain to her. And he made the striking point of where ever aspect of her life was to be put under scrutiny hence the "justified" clause of the contract where all of Mabel's social media accounts are to be sifted and filtered by the company. She couldn't even go visit her family whenever she wanted. 

Sad with the news, she called Dipper who was in University doing his film project on something very tedious. 

"Aw man, Mabel." Dipper said through the phone. "I wish I was there to hug you." 

He could see the sad smile Mabel had on her face even when they were mile apart. _"It's okay, bro bro. You'll owe me one more awkward sibling hug."_

It wasn't until the next day that Mabel called Dipper again during his taping. 

She was screaming at his ear and crying and sobbing in joy. It took five minutes into the call for Mabel to finally calm down and tell him that Grunkle Stan's friend from a rock punk band intends to offer her to be part of their tour as they didn't have any other artists with them on their upcoming tour around the country. 

"Are you gonna accept it?" Dipper asked, and he couldn't help the smile on his face from growing to bigger. 

" _I mean, Grunkle Stan said that they're the drugs, sex and rock and roll kind, and-- I don't know, Dipper, my gut tells me that this is _way_ better than the girl group." _ She said. 

"Is that a yes?"

Their parents gave a reluctant 'yes' since Grunkle Stan was going with them. It's a good thing their parents didn't do any research about the band that recruited Mabel. 

The Flesh Curtains were influential in the local underground punk rock genre. And of course they weren't good moral influence. 

And it turns out the guy Grunkle Stan knows is not just a friend, the guy is the guitarists and second vocals, but that was beside the point. The Flesh Curtains' frontman was Rick Sanchez, _Grunkle Stan's boyfriend_. 

_"'Rick Sanchez'?" Grunkle Ford echoed, a tone of disbelief and humour in his voice, "I never thought I'd hear that name again in this lifetime."_ He told Dipper. 

Dipper gave a quizzical hum. 

_"My dear brother used to stalk his band around the region, I think Stan even became their groupie."_ He chuckled, _"It was cute. But the band broke up. But I guess Stan remained in contact with them or something."_

"But Grunkle Stan," He said in light protest, "I can't wrap my head around the fact that Grunkle Stan's boyfriend is from a rock band!"

This time Grunkle Ford bursted out laughing. _"Just be glad your parents don't know them."_

"Are they safe for Mabel to travel with?"

_"Is Morty traveling with them?"_

"Who?"

Morty Smith was Rick Sanchez's grandson. He was the band's PR and event manager. He was really too young to be traveling around with a bunch of old men, but somehow, it was oddly fitting. Morty was good at doing his thing. His endearing pseudo-innocent charm helped them get in and do a gig at some popular underground joints. 

That was what Dipper was going to help Morty with that morning. Scout around the city for a possible place. Because the current one that Morty had booked The Flesh Curtains in had been suddenly infested with rats, and forced to close for renovation.

Dipper fixed the camera in his baseball cap, he clipped the microphone to the inside of his jacket. 

His previous film project had been scrapped entirely and he decided to follow Mabel tour around with The Flesh Curtains, as per advice of Dipper's professor. (Because he used to be a fan of The Flesh Curtains). 

More than happy to oblige, he packed his stuff and followed Mabel into the RV. It was a good thing too, they could help each other by reminding each other to eat lunch. 

But the reminder became Morty's task since he tend to sleepover at their trailer when Grunkle Stan was over at Rick's trailer. 

"What do they do together?" Mabel questioned that one time when she gave poor tired Morty a mug of dark coffee. 

Morty looked up at her with bigger bags under his eyes than Mabel's beloved pastel pink heart sling bag. Both Pines Twins felt pity for their friend. And he told them, "That was a rhetorical question, right?" 

'Oh shit' was the one thought that run through both Pines' minds. 

 

 

"H-how's your documentary going, D-dipper?" Morty asked as they took a seat in a booth in a breakfast diner. 

"It's coming along well." Dipper tells him, eyes flitting to the cap resting at the other end of the table, having a good view of them both where his camera was secured. 

Morty nodded, "We'll be having about a-a couple more months of th-this and you'll have m-m-more material to work with."

Dipper huffed in light laughter, as he pushed the tissue dispenser and the bottle of ketchup from the cap's view. "Five months, and home sweet home, eh?"

Morty gave a strained scoff. 

Dipper turned to look at Mort, taken aback from the older guy's lack of celebration. "What's home like at your family?"

Morty sighed, "D-disorganized."

"Why so?"

"My mom's a vet surgeon, my sister's a lawyer, and my dad's in advertising."

"Oh wow."

"Yeah, but my d-dad dislikes Rick so m-much that he'd been i-insisting that Mom p-p-put Rick in a retirement home." The waitress came to get their orders. 

Sending away the nice woman with their orders, Dipper looked back at the older guy. 

Morty never failed to wear something yellow in his outfits: yellow shirts, yellow hoodies, yellow Converse, even yellow undies that one time Mabel walked in on him on the bathroom. 

"Why'd you follow Rick and his band around?" Dipper questioned as the waitress came with their food. "Most grandchildren wouldn't even like tagging along with their senile grandfather."

Morty scoffed good-naturedly, "R-rick's not really senile, i-is he?"

Dipper chuckled as he took a sip of his chocolate milkshake. 

"He r-r-revived his band after a long h-hi-hiatus, and he's traveling around, w-wrecking havoc wherever the heck we go." 

"Point."

"And T-the Flesh Curtains aren't really old people music."

Dipper laughed, agreeing. "Oh heck no."

Morty grinned. Suddenly, abandoning his fork, his hand came down to pat his thigh he stretched his right leg under the table, muttering an apology when he brushed Dipper's shoe with his. And he pulled his phone out. He looked to Dipper for permission, and the younger guy nodded in nonchalance. 

Morty swiped answer on his phone. "H-hello?" He paused. "O-oh hi Summer!" There was a nostalgic smile on the guy's face. "Yeah, we stopped over a city... N-no, the club had to f-fumigate or some shit l-like that." His eyes turned to look at Dipper. 

And it made Dipper freeze mid-way of putting a small slice of bacon and pancake in his mouth. 

"O-oh, I thought I updated the band's s-status. I-I'll have my assistant remind m-me later."

Both guys broke into a grin. 

"Thanks, Summer, f-for stalking the band's Tweeter page. Yeah, b-bye." 

As Morty placed his phone on the table, Dipper smirked at him. "Mr Smith, I need to remind you that you need to update the band's dates."

Morty snorted and took his phone in his hands again, within seconds, The Flesh Curtains' Tweeter Page was updated with comments from different fans suggesting alternative clubs within the city and voicing their sympathy for the last club. He rested his phone again and told Dipper, "I f-forgot how many fans the band has in this place."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Dipper questioned as he finished his food. 

Morty was only half finished with his, "I-it's a b-bad thing."

Dipper chuckled. 

And just as Morty was reaching for his coffee, his phone rang again. 

Dipper quickly grabbed it and swiped 'answer', pressing it to his ear. 

"Hello?" Dipper said, laughter tinting his voice, "This is Morty Smith's assisstant?"

Mory eyed him in exasperation.

"Yeah? Who's this? 'Mr Jellybean?'"

Suddenly Morty's eyes went wide and made a 'cut it off' gesture.

Dipper's brows furrowed in confusion at his friend's sudden change of expression. "He's--"

Morty reached over the table and snatched the phone from Dipper's hand.

Dipper's jaw fell in a silent yelp when he felt Morty's blunt fingernails scratch his hand. He looked at the older guy. 

Morty swiped 'end call' and flopped down the couch. He let the phone clutter beside his cup of coffee and wiped a hand over his face. 

"Hey man, you okay?--"

Morty jumped out of his seat, "Let's go." He pulled out a fifty and slapped it on the table before he dragged himself out the booth. 

Dipper took his cap and followed him out, glancing at the waitress before following Morty out the diner who was already brisk walking to the direction of the trailer park. 

"Morty! Hey Morty!" Dipper called after his friend. He sped up and grabbed the guy's arm, making the guy freeze and turn to him. "Hey man, what's up?"

"I-I can't." He told Dipper in the weakest voice Dipper had ever heard of him. "I... I just can't."

"Morty, it's okay. Whatever it is, it's alright." Dipper looked around, internally surprised that they were just a few blocks nearer from the trailer park than the diner. Still holding Morty's hand, he pulled the guy to a bench by a bus stop. The bus had just left, but there wasn't a sight of any living soul in the street around them. "Let's sit down and calm down." He told the guy. His mind was suddenly running with ways of how to calm the guy down. 

It's a good thing Mabel had made him do meditative breathing and all that stuff. It had been the way he calmed Mabel down when she had a panic attack. And now, it seems Morty needs said meditative breathing. 

But the older guy doesn't speak for a whole ten minutes, and Dipper was fine. He'd gone a longer without talking. If that's what Morty needed, someone to sit down with and just stay silent, so be it. 

And then Morty opened his mouth.

"I... The Flesh Curtains used to be hot in this city, back in the day. And then, when I was --what, fourteen? -- the band was asked to play for a special occasion. And I was just tagging along with Rick. I-I got..." He paused when he felt his eyes water, he nearly flinched when Dipper placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He ignored it when he felt a tear sliding down his cheek, "I was in the bathroom, and then there was this man, I thought he was being friendly, until he got me cornered in a bathroom stall and nearly a-assaulted me." He took a sharp inhale. "H-he turned out to be the owner of the club, Mr J-Jellybean."

Dipper's brows furrowed in anger. "The fuck?"

"That was t-the one time the Flesh Curtains was pushed out of a club not because of a b-b-bar fight, a person nearly died, or any thing like that. I-it's because I-I didn't--" He heaved out in frustration and disgust. 

Dipper stretched his arm around the guys shoulders and embraced him. "I'm so sorry man. That's hard. But you're brave, 'cause you still stuck with Rick."

Morty turned to give the younger man a strained smile. "T-thanks, Dipper. For listening. I... I never really told anyone about it."

Dipper nodded, lightly punching the older guy on the shoulder. "Anytime, Morty. I'm here. Bros gotta stick for each other, yeah?"

Morty smiled at him again. 

 

 

Mabel stumbled out of her cot, yawning into her hand. 

She had slept the entire day and it was like past lunch time already. There was a pink sticky note on her phone when she grabbed for it to check the time, it read. 

_'Band's practicing at XY studio. Morty and me went to shop grocery cos Squanchy ate Birdperson's kale. Beef burger in refrigerator._

_\--Dipper'_

She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it up to a messy bun of brown and pink. She wore her mint green sweatpants and rubbed her eyes.

"Shouldn't have took Squanchy to that jell-o shot challenge." She commented as she blinked down at the cold floor under her feet. 

The other night was not really anything special. The Flesh Curtains featuring Shooting Star performed at a city four hours drive from here. Though they did their own rendition of Britney Spears' Toxic which got the whole club roaring. After their performance, Squanchy was looking for someone to fight with, but no one wanted to because he's in a band. So he dragged Mabel to the bar and challenged her to to drink five shots. Grunkle Stan wasn't there to monitor her from getting too smashed (Dipper was smooching up a girl in the boy's bathroom), because Grunkle Stan took Rick somewhere private, probably sucking something private. Old men and their old sins...

She daintily and carefully got to the mini fridge, she had stubbed her toe thrice in this RV, it hurts like a bitch. She took her burger out and a bottle of water. She went to the small table just behind the driver's seat. 

She twisted the bottle open and took a generous gulp before closing it and taking a bite of her late lunch. 

Just as she was about to take a second bite, she paused when she noticed Dipper's blue cap attached to his red laptop with a long white cable. 

Oh that's right. He's got a vidcam in his hat. Something to help with his documentary. He doesn't usually use his cap for recording scenes, he tends to have his handy vidcam in his palm and follow her around. But even the vidcam was sitting pretty beside the cap. 

She munched on her burger and pushed the laptop open. She sees that it was open in a moviemaker with the project simply entitled with today's date. 

She pressed the space bar. 

They were sitting down it seems as the view was of Morty's jean clad knees, his yellow Converse was undeniably his staple jewelry. 

_"-- this man, I thought he was being friendly,"_ It was Morty's voice. What was he telling Dipper? _"...until he cornered me in a bathroom stall and nearly a-assaulted me."_ Morty took a sharp breath, that even Mabel took with him. "H-he turned out to be the owner of the club, Mr J-Jellybean."

"The fuck?" Came Dipper's very angry hushed voice. 

Morty's voice seem to be cracking. _"That was t-the one time the Flesh Curtains was pushed out of a club not because of a b-b-bar fight, a person nearly died, or any thing like that. I-it's because I-I didn't--"_

She heard enough. 

 

 

Mr Jellybean exited the men's and wiped his hands on a hand towel. Tonight's DJ was a drop-out college kid trying to have a stable job by frequenting at Jellybean's. But Jellybean got news that the Flesh Curtains was in town. The other club had "accidentaly" bred rats in a broom closet, hence the close down. 

Too bad the assistant manager hang up immediately, it sounds like the kid's his type. He didn't want to call again, as that might cause him to be sued on the account of stalking. Just like that time he had to be in parole for a whole year just because he was in the children's playground. It wasn't his fault children were moody shits; first, they're all smiles and laughter, second they give that uncomfortable look, until they run away screaming. 

He headed to his office, ignoring the jovial greeting from his mixologist as he passed by the bar. 

He closed the door behind him and sat behind his desk. 

Shit, now he has to call DJ DropOut. Well, it isn't his moniker, it's just that his songs has weird bass drops it affects bowel movements to eject in time of the drop. Sure the kid got talent, and he just needs some polishing, but shit is shit whether it be brown or gold. 

The door slammed open and four people piled in. One of them had brass knuckles on, the other had a bat in his hand, the other a knife, and a girl had really high platform heels on. 

Mr Jellybean beamed at the girl, "Hello, little girl. Would you like some--"

The man with the brass knuckles stomped forward and punched him square on the jaw. "Don't you fucking talk to her, you disgusting dickhead!"

The lanky one with the white, almost blue, hair came forward and grabbed Jellybean by the collar of his shirt. "Remember me?"

Jellybean blinked, wincing in pain, he looked through his puffy left eye and analyzed the man. 

"Rick? Sanchez?" 

"Yeah," Rick spat, "You-you did something."

"I-I'm sorry I threw you out--"

Jellybean cried out in pain when he felt the blunt end of the baseball bat hit him on the groin. 

"You molested my grandson, you s-sick fuck!" Rick grabbed his hairless head and yanked him to face them. 

The girl then came forward, she raised her open palm and slapped him so hard it stung and he felt something drip down his nose. 

The buff man turned to the girl with a pleased smirk, "Nice work."

The girl smiled sweetly in thanks. She went forward to Jellybean's desk and opened the jar of lollipop. 

But as soon as the lid was popped open, the girl's hand hovering above to pick one, Rick hit the jar with such precision, it was smashed on the wall. And the girl couldn't even flinch because all she could understand was that there was no more lollipop to choose from. 

She glared at him, and said, "Of course I'm gonna share."

Rick shook his head at her, "That's not it, sweetheart." The other man gave a look of disbelief at Rick for the nickname. Rick walked around and faced Jellybean, who looked disappointed that the girl didn't get to have a piece of candy for her trouble. "S'that your way o-of being a f-- a fucking pedophile? Put _drugs_ in candy and give t-them to ch-ch-children?! Huh?!"

Jellybean grunted as the bat was jabbed to his stomach. 

The girl was in front him again, "You know how many kids' lives you ruined? And Morty, he's my lovable best friend, he's gone through a lot of rough patches on the road, and he's a tough cookie. But you added to it so..." She heaved and put all her anger in 

"H-holy fucking shit, Mabel!" Rick yelled. 

She smiled at him before strutting out the office like a diva. 

The other man turned to Rick in a panic, "W-what--?"

Rick's face was still twisted in shock. 

Just how in hell did Mabel 'Cotton-candy Heart' Pines managed to anatomically stab a man in the thigh with a knife without cutting the femoral artery? 

"Should we call an ambulance?" The still unnamed man inquired. 

But Rick smirked in only a Grinch could, _"Never."_

The two me came out the office almost hand-in-hand if not for the bloody mess on Rick's shirt and face. 

Stan, out of instinct had reached out to hold his hand, but almost screamed when he remembered the warm red slime on Rick's hand was blood. 

Birdperson and Squanchy had abandoned their post as look-out outside the office and were beside Mabel, patting her back and holding her hair as she vomited out in the sink of bar. 

"H-how'd you-- how'd you know w-where to stab him, kid?" Rick asked as they joined them by the bar. 

Mabel paused, but she didn't look around to face him, "I didn't." 

This terrified Stan, but it amazed Rick. 

Birdperson and Squanchy were only concerned that the girl felt better after hurling her lunch out. 

Later that evening, as Morty changed out of his clothes into his sleep clothes, he paused when he saw Rick's favourite blue sweater with bloodstains on them. 

He shut his eyes and turned his head in disgust. _Oh hell no_. 

He rolled his dirty clothes and tucked it under his armpit as he walked out the small bathroom. He hoped Dipper wouldn't mind that he'll throw some of his clothes with his when they go to the laundromat tomorrow. 

As he closed the door behind him, he yelled as he made his way to the main door, sleepover at the Pines' RV again. 

"J-jeez, Rick! I'm not c-c-cleaning bloodstains o-off your clothes again! Did y-you mutilate a hedgehog again o-or something?" 

"Sure Morty!" Was his grandpa's reply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha.
> 
> Remember Mr Jellybean? 
> 
> Yes, Mabel stabbed him. Yes, Rick killed him. And yes, Mabel puked after.


	2. Young love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were like that for a minute and whatever they were going through, it didn't hurt. But they had to break apart and start hurting again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you don't like Mabifica or Dipper/Morty, you can ignore this. 
> 
> Done in an hour, not beta'd.

Suburbia 3.1

 

Dipper wore the first thing his hand touched that was strewn haphazardly on double-decked cot. 

He was more than happy when he saw it was a baby blue sweater-- Mabel's sweater, of course-- but he didn't complain. When it comes to clothes, none of them complains, they've shared clothes on multiple occasions, and tonight was no exception. 

As he got his head through the neck hole, his face was scrunched up in disgust, "Ew, what the absolute fuck, Mabel!" He yelled. 

"What?" The girl yelled back from the wherever in the RV she was waiting at. 

He sniffed the sleeve of sweater for good measure and his expression did not change, "Why does you sweater smells like sex?" He called. 

There was the sound of shuffling and the clank of heels on the floor. Soon enough, Mabel was leaning on the wall that covered the small sleeping area where her brother was. There was an unreadable look on her face as she looked him over. 

Dipper opened his arms in expectation, awaiting her explanation, probably an elaborate excuse. 

"Put some pants on, doofus." She told him, nodding at his gray undies, "Everyone's at the pizza parlour, already."

He rolled his eyes as he looked around the small space for a pair of pants. 

Why didn't they clean up their small sleeping area? Sure, they're a rock band and all that stuff, but that doesn't excuse the fact that where both Pines twins sleep were a pig sty. Mabel had to be told twice to clean her bedroom, while Dipper always had to keep his room spotless. But what happened last night made Dipper overlook the mess that happened his bed. He bit the inside of his cheek when he remembered a scene of last night. But he didn't need a replay of last night, but he needs an _answer_ As to why Mabel's sweater smelled like it had witnessed human intercourse. "My question's still unanswered." He muttered as he threw a white lace panty at her and looked at their beds. They didn't share _that_.

She seem to have caught it as there was the sound of something thrown in the basket of dirty clothes. "Why are you questioning me about my nightscapades, bro-bro? I didn't ask when you said you had to leave and then Morty left five minutes after you."

Dipper tried hard not to freeze. But there was definitely a stutter in the way he pulled on a pair of pants to his hips. He grumbled when he noticed it was a pair of Mabel's straight cut jeans when he saw the heart-shaped belt buckle. 

"Are you together?" She questioned as she watched him loop the belt around his hips. "'Cause I've noticed the two of you had been missing during band practices. And that's happened for a long time, so... Are you together?"

"Maybe?" He answered, "I honestly don't know, Mabel. The most appropriate label to stamp on our relationship is 'fuck buddies' but that makes me want to flip a table or some shit."

He turned around to show himself, to ask if he was presentable. But when he saw the look on his sister's face, a look of self-pity, he frowned. "What?" He asked in turn. 

She sighed, "I'm in the exact situash, Dip." She confessed. 

He opened his arms again, this time inaudibly beckoning her into a hug. 

She gave a small pained smile and embraced him. 

They were like that for a minute and whatever they were going through, it didn't hurt. But they had to break apart and start hurting again. 

She sat on Dipper's cot, "Remember that socialite bitch you hate so much?"

Dipper folded his arms over his chest, covering the all-caps quote on the sweater 'ADULT-ISH'. "Pacifica Bitchface?" He clarified. 

She nodded, looking down at her pink Doc Martens boots, "She's been in town for the week and I've ran into her thrice, and those three times ended up with a coffee date. The last two with a quick fuck."

He furrowed his brows, "You're fucking Pacifica Northwest?"

She didn't answer as that was a rhetorical question. They both knew it was a question to be asked out loud. 

He let himself fall back to lean on the small wall behind him, where Mabel had been leaning on a few minutes ago. 

He wanted to talk smack about the blonde whore. Pacifica was the exact portrait of a Plastic in the shape of Chanel Oberlin. Pale, rich, popular, conceited and a bigot. She's got her designer stick up her ass it must be seen through her back. 

He stopped with the mean thoughts and looked at Mabel. She needed less oil thrown into the flame. 

The two of them hate people who were like Pacifica: _bullies_. They were what broke the Pines twins and made them cry themselves to sleep. All the bullying, the taunts, the insults, the punches and the kicks that happened during high school was their cause of teenage angst. But their high school bullies were forgotten when they graduated. 

Dipper had numbed the pain through studying, Mabel did by music. 

And now, Pacifica was there, digging up all the high school pain the twins buried in the past. That's why Dipper just talked what came out his mouth when the bitch criticized them to their face; she talked about them having a daddy kink as to why they were touring with old men, the disgust she has for Dipper for his ears having too many piercings, Mabel and her disco looking attire. Pacifica Northwest was the worst 

Dipper opened his mouth and one syllable floated between them like a bubble to be popped. "Why?"

She looked up to him in surprise. "W-what?"

"Why her, Mabel?" He questioned, pulling himself away from the wall. "We're better off without her kind of shit to put up with. Why get close to her?"

"I--" Mabel said, "She started talking-- talking deep, deep stuff, Dipper. She confessed that she was sorry, she wasn't the kind of person she shows outside. And she was jealous of my courage to stand out and be myself."

His frown dug deeper on his face. Mabel was exactly the kind of person to scrap off a bad first impression. That's why she was so gullible and vulnerable to bullies. She trusted a little too much. 

Dipper wanted to tell her that Pacifica must be pulling the 'pity card' for sport, to grant her leverage and to backstab her. 

"I'm starting to feel attached." Mabel confessed to him. Her tone was weak, and the expression on her face spoke volumes of how much she was affected by Pacifica. 

Dipper heaved as he sat beside her. "Mabel, I love you. And you're grown up. So I won't have to tell you that Pacifica may just be the devil in an angel costume."

She smiled bitterly. "I don't know." She said. "Maybe I need to hear someone say that she's actual shit for me to wake up and tell her to go fuck herself."

Dipper smiled, standing up, "Come on. I heard there's pizza waiting for us." He held out his hand for her to take. 

She grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling back to haul herself up. "Friends and Pizza is a good combination."

Laughing, the two exit the RV and headed to the the pizza parlor in town. 

 

 

"'Ey!" Rick exclaimed when he spotted the two approaching their booth. "Nice of you to finally join us." He pointed at Mabel, "You, sit beside me, your Grandpa's being a jerk to me." He told the girl, jabbing his thumb to Stan who was seated to Stan's left, and to Stan's left were Birdperson, Squanchy and Morty (who had sat on a stool as she didn't want to squeeze more into the couch booth. 

Stan gave Rick an expectant look, "Because, you weirdo, who likes fruit in their pizza?" Squanchy and Morty snickered behind their beer. 

"I'll have you know, Stanley Pines," Rick said in a superior tone, "tomato is also a fruit. So don't discriminate pineapples."

The two sat together, mabel on the small space of the couch Rick reserved for her, while Dipper took a stool and shifted his eyes away when Morty seemed to offer him he take a stool beside him. 

Mabel took two of the untouched beer bottles in the middle of the table for her and Dipper, saying, "I don't like pineapples in pizza." She said simply. 

The whole table turned into a cacophany of bickering and laughter. 

"I hate you now," Rick told her when their noise died down, "You're not allowed to be my young best friend anymore."

Mabel grinned, but jabbed a thumb towards her brother. 

Dipper pointed at himself, "I like pineapples."

Mabel yelped out of the blue when she got shoved to her brother's direction, she glared at Rick who gave a pointed look. she grumbled as she crawled over her brother to switch places with him. So just Rick fucking Sanchez has someone on his side, both literally and figuratively. 

Morty, out of the blue, stood up. "Guys, I'd like to say something."

"I know you hate pineapples, stop being a little shit about it." Rick told him, his right arm going around to drape on the headrest behind Dipper. 

Morty ignored his grandpa, but said, "Dipper Pines, we've been dancing around, saying emotions are useless things. But--" he blinked when he noticed everyone's attention on the table were on him, "Dipper, if you'll have me, I'd like to restart and take you on a date first." He said as he offered a friendly smile at Dipper

Mabel beamed at the guy and turned to Dipper, "Say yes, or I'll fall in love with him myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I continue this? Should I do a Dipica chap?
> 
> Edited: 7/23/16  
> I just thought of this, like, who tops?


	3. Sibling Inks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I accidentally deleted this chap a week ago, so I'm gonna repost this. Though it's editted. 
> 
> Supposedly, my friend should have beta'd this, but she's being a little shit as of late.

"Why is your nickname 'Squanchy'?" Dipper asked as he waved his hand dismissively when offered the pipe of the hookah. 

Squanchy shrugged, "I cuss too much. And the two clowns," he chuckled when Birdperson grumbled behind the pipe, "wanted to make me lessen my cussing, so they made me wrap the whole curse words into one made up one. I dunno, it had some psycho effect on me when people around me started calling me 'Squanchy'. It actually made me cuss less. And the nickname never really faded off."

Dipper smiled at the thought of Rick and Birdperson tricking Squanchy into decreasing his bad words. Looking down in his can of soda, he pondered on the depth of the Flesh Curtain's friendship. It must be fun. All three of them going on adventures, experiencing things, being there for each other. Dipper actually was kind of jelly of that. Sure he had Mabel, but they were taken apart around high school. Mabel is part of the art club that goes on many competitions, while Dipper had been pushed aside to the table of 'nobody-cares'. They were twins, but society tear everything apart. Traveling in the RV, touring with the Flesh Curtains had rekindled the innate relationship the Pines twins had. 

They were going to travel in an hour, they were just waiting for the sun to drop a bit so they won't have to drive in the heat to save them gas and from the headache. 

They just did a two-night gig in town and today was a rest day. 

Dipper and Morty were at Birdperson and Squanchy's RV to hang out. And Birdperson took out his hookah to share with everyone. 

From the smell of the smoke alone, Dipper could note the aroma of lavender, something citrus and rose? 

He looked at the inside of the hookah's body and nodded. _Roses._

Rick, Stan and Mabel in another RV, the three were planning and calculating travel expense. But actually, Mabel was there to supervise and to cockblock the two old men from seizing the opportunity to _fondue_. 

From the latest text message from her, Dipper knew that the two grandpas were doing what they're suppose to do. 

According to Morty, Birdperson usually does the money-counting. But he passed the baton to Stan because Birdperson knew that Stan can maximize the band's monetary gain. 

"How about you Birdperson?" Dipper asked. "Why are you called 'Birdperson?"

The man inhaled from the hookah's pen before handing it to Morty. 

Dipper watched as Birdperson exhaled a perfect O smoke obtained from consuming so much smoke that the man had learned how to make it into a sport. 

Squanchy cackled, "Birdperson's name is a fuckin' mile long."

Dipper's brows raised, "Oh really?"

"It is quite a mouthful." Birdperson said. "It is Jean-Guy Percival Byrd."

"' _Byrd_?'" Dipper quoted. 

"Yes, I am from a long line of Anglo-Franco bards."

Dipper blinked, unable to process quickly that Birdperson had a royal heritage, even if it's just a bardship, it sounded important. Shakespeare's a bard, that's the magnitude of coolness. "Wow, does where you're from acknowledge your bardship?" He questioned. 

"Birdperson flipped them off by ditching them during the coronation thing and came here to the US." Squanchy told the young guy, but eyes watching Morty who had done a sloppy circl and handed the hookah back to Birdperson. "How 'bout you, kid?" Squanchy questioned, "Why you called 'Dipper'?"

"Oh." He articulated, "Because of this." He pushed his bangs up from covering his forehead. "My birthmark."

There was an amused smirk on Squanchy's face and a reserved look on Birdperson's. 

"Did someone write permanent marker on your face?" Squanchy chided. 

If it were any other person to joke about it, Dipper would have been greatly offended. But he's in a zone of amicable environment and they're getting high. So, like,  
whatever. 

"I guess." Dipper muttered, taking a swig of his soda. 

Then Dipper's phone rang, a text from Mabel reading: 'ASSEMBLE'. 

"I guess they're done." Dipper said. He grabbed Morty's shoulder and pulled himself up from the floor, jokingly wiping his hand over Morty's face. He cackled when the older guy glared at him. 

Morty quickly grabbed the young guy's hand before he could take a step towards the main door, and pulled himself up. But then-- 

_Clunk!_

"Shit! Dipper, I'm sorry!" Morty quickly gushed as he bended forward to pick up Dipper's watch. 

"Oooooh." Squanchy said accusingly behind them. 

Dipper shook his hand dismissively. "'S okay. It's a fake watch Grunkle Stan gave me." He plucked the watch from Morty's palm. "He has a whole case of fake Rolexes I could choose from." He joked, grinning cheekily at Morty. He held it up for Morty to see when he noticed that the older guy was still staring, "It's fine Mort, it's fake."

He climbed down the RV before Morty could construct another sorry. 

But that wasn't what was in Morty's head, but what Morty saw permanently engrained on his friend's wrist. 

 

They all got out and got in a circle by Rick and Morty's RV. 

Stan told them about the details of the next city, how many hours, where to stop, and all that stuff. 

Rick and Morty would lead their caravan of RVs. 

Just as Dipper was to close the door of their RV, Morty grabbed his wrist. 

Dipper nearly slapped his hand away in reflex, though when he saw it was his friend, he gently flicked Morty's forehead with his knuckles. "What the heck, Morty, you startled the shit out of me."

Morty opened his mouth, question ready in his tongue, but his eyes drifted to the black RV where his grandpa had retreated. 

"Hey Mort." Dipper called, pulling the older guy back to his senses, "I guess the rose hookah fried some brain cells outta use." He joked. 

Morty's eyes snapped back to his friend, his question spilling out. "W-why do you have a star tattoo?"

Dipper grinned softly, tenderly, as he looked down the inside of his wrist to show Morty the tattoo. 

It was a simple black outline of a cartoon shooting star. The ends of its tail faded off to where Dipper's veins were visible. It looked cute. It looked like it should be on Mabel's wrist, not Dipper's. 

"It's Mabel, you know." Dipper told him. "She's shooting star."

Morty was about to ask why again when Stan called from inside the RV, "Let's get goin'!"

Dipper waved lamely at Morty before closing the door. 

The girly tattoo didn't cross Morty's mind again as he joined his grandpa in their RV. 

 

 

\---

 

They were in the next city with the whole morning to spare before their gig later that night. 

Everybody were at the club for soundcheck and a dry run of tonight's set. 

Mabel had to run back to the RV to grab the song sheet of a new song. And she've dragged Morty along to keep her company. 

And as they run crazily through the town to the direction of the trailer park, holding the other by the wrist, Morty couldn't help but stare at the black ink on her dr

A simple, minimalist black pine tree tattoo with its trunk fading into the outline of Mabel's vein on the middle of her wrist. 

"Pine tree?" Morty asked when they stopped running and walked pass the trailers in the area. 

Mabel grinned, glancing at it, Morty let's her wrist go. They neared the RV "Yeah, it was Dipper's horrible nickname. It reminds me of all the shit we went through, but we're still standing, together. Here we are!"

She pulled out her copy of the keys and slotted it in. 

Morty followed the girl inside the RV with a small smile on his face. 

 

 

\---

 

 

They were in Salem, capital city of Oregon. They got two weeks in here with six nights of ripping off roofs of underground clubs. 

"We're taking a week off in Gravity Falls after this." Stan informed everyone over breakfast at a diner. 

The younger ones occupied one booth, the rest in the booth beside them.

Mabel and Dipper drummed on their table, cheering and high-fived. 

"Anyone else wants to announce something?"

Morty wanted to say something about a man who kept staring at Stan ominously at the booth at the far corner of the diner. 

The man jumped up and then tackled Stan into a bear hug. 

"The fuck--?!" Stan yelled in surprise as he resisted the force making him crumble to the floor. His struggle stopped when he heard a familiar laugh above him. He grinned up at the man, "Ford!"

"Heya brother." Ford greeted. He winked at the younger Pines twins and grinned at the members of the Flesh Curtains. "Gentlemen."

Squanchy made a face as he drank his beer, "Naaaah."

"Why are you here?" Stan questioned as he squirmed in his brother's hold, only for Ford to tighten his hold. 

"There was a convention on, uh, sciencey things, and Rick had texted me you'll be here."

Morty looked over to the other table where Rick gave himself a self-pleased smile which he covered behind his mug of coffee. 

"Don't tryna steal my man, Ford." Stan muttered good-naturedly as he grabbed Ford's hand over his neck, trying to shove it off him, only for Ford to twirl them around to counter the move. 

"Aha! Not unless you put a ring on it."

There was a rare moment in the universe that took Rick off guard, and what Ford said had made him choke on his coffee. 

But what Morty had noticed that there were black tattoos on the older Pines twins' nape. 

On Stan's was what looked like a hi-five. And on Ford's was a fish. 

The two decided enough was enough so they shoved each other in the booth with the Flesh Curtains. 

Just as they slid in, Morty analyzed the tats. Stan's hi-five was actually a six-fingered hand. 

While on Ford's was a silhouette of a fish about to eat a circle, but inside the body of the fish was what looked like a comma. 

"Who wants pancakes?" Squanchy yelled. 

Everybody yelled and raised their hands. 

 

\---

 

 

Morty was washing his hands when Ford entered the bathroom. 

"Oh hey! You're Marty, right?" The old man said. 

Morty gave a small smile, "'Morty', but yeah."

Ford smiled back, "I apologize. Though I've met your sister, Summer."

Morty couldn't help but smile fondly at the thought of his older sister. He turned the faucet off and faced the man, "May I ask something?"

Ford blinked, and then raised his hand for Morty to see, wiggling his fingers, "Yes, both my hands have six fingers."

Morty's mouth fell open, then said, "T-that wasn't really w-what I had in mind."

Ford dug his hands in his pants pocket, "What is it, my boy?"

"What does your tattoo mean?"

"Oh. Oh!" Ford turned at an angle and pointed at his nape. "It's Stanley's thing, as mine is six fingers. Stan likes fishing."

"And the dot thing?"

Ford faced him again, "It's a semi colon, actually. It stands for surviving depression. How writers choose to continue a new sentence without the use of a period."

Morty's brows knitted together, "I'm sorry."

"It was Stan, he had depression. He fell into it when I had to leave for college. But he survived it."

Morty smiled at that. 

"And to answer why they're behind our necks it's because we are each other's weaknesses, our blind spot."

That made sense. How Mabel's and Dipper's tattoos were located at their wrists, a vital artery was located there too. 

Morty nodded, "Thank you for telling me."

 

\---

 

 _"Wassup, Morty?_ " Summer greeted as soon as Morty's face appeared on the screen. She blinked in confusion when she saw the pondering look on her brother's thoughts. _"Penny for your thoughts?"_ She offered. 

He looked at her, and smiled, "You know how I'm kinda hanging out with this twins, Mabel and Dipper?"

She nodded, _"Yeah, what about them?"_

"They have tattoos of each other's icon on their wrists. And grandpa's boyfriend and his brother also share sibling tattoos."

Summer raised a brow, _"It's a twin thing, I guess."_

Suddenly, Morty was pulling his shirt over his head but he seem to be struggling. 

_"Gosh, Morty! I'm on my break, can't you be SFW?"_

Then he finally got his shirt off, he threw it somewhere off screen. He leaned forward until his bare chest filled the screen. 

_"Yes, I see that, Morty, you've been hitting the gym. You've got toned abs, while I have manly legs from walking around the office on high heels a lot."_ Then she paused when she saw that he was pointing to something on his chest. 

A tattoo of an infinity sign with the word 'summer' written in the line. 

"We may not be twins, Summer, but you're my sister and my best friend. And you're always close to my heart."

Summer grinned, " _Aww! Morty!"_


	4. Guitarist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How did you find me?" He decidely asked her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its slow, updates are slow.

No no no no no no no NO!

It wasn't fair. It's never ever fair.

Why do life have to fuck everything up?! Take up a perfect piece of well-written paper, which had been lovingly and carefully made, and crumple it all up like it was some digusting first draft to someone's beloved novel.

"Mabel, sweetie, you-you just gotta _chill_." Rick told her, smiling dreamily at the girl.

Stan stared at him in worry.

Mabel snappped a glare at the old man, but Rick barely flinched.

Why must this happen? What did Mabel do wrong? 

"Lee, baby, can I have more painkillers? God, I love getting high."

Stan's eyes widen and his mouth felll oppen in shock.

"Did you break your wrist jerking off?!" Mabel questioned.

Rick giggled, eyes shifting too look at Stan. Stan, on the other hand [A/N: I hate puns], covered his blushing red face with his hands.

Mabel opened her mouth to scold them, but Stan cut her, "We-we weren't I swear!"

Mabel narrowed her eyes at him, "You better swear! Grunkle Stan, if what you're saying is a lie, you better run very far away, because I am on my fucking _period_ , and it won't be my blood on the floor!"

Stan raised his hand, shaking them dismissively at the girl. "I-I swear, Mabel, sweetie!" He told her, "No need to get violent!"

Mabel opened her mouth again, only for the hotel room to gape wide open.

"Mabel!" Dipper exclaimed excitedly. "I found someone!"

Mabel grinned widely at her brother. "Oh my gosh, Dipper! I could kiss you right now!"

Dipper gave her a disgusted look, "Uh, no thanks." He closed the door behind him. "Remember that guy? The one with the bunny hat we met at the ski resort?"

"Dipper that was, like, two years ago." Mabel deadpanned. "How could I ever remember a guy from a ski resort?"

Dipper rolled his eyes, "Anyway, he runs the ski resort with his kinda adoptived uncle, and--" He saw the unamused look on his sister's face. "Anyway, he knows this girl who has a girlfriend whose cousin plays the guitar."

Mabel folded her arms over her chest. "How much are we spending to get this guy here on time?" 

"Actually..." Dipper drawled, a knowing grin forming on his face.

Mabel's look hardened. "I'm not spending a fortune on this guy."

"Actually he works here."

 

 _"La da da da da, I'm gonna bury you in the ground, la da da da da I'm gonna goonna bury you with my sound. I'm gonna drink the red from your pretty pink face--"_ The guy sang as he mentally strum the chords to a song.

He's working as the mixologist and bartender in this hotel's restaurant, it pays well, and he gets more than enough tips, but the personal satisfaction to work and socialize with people who flirt with him because he's aestheticallly pleasing hurts him and makes him hate _everything_ about life.

He wants to be a legendary guitar player, play 8 times a week, and hear the crowd scream his name.

His cousin, Marceline, had the same dream, but she became a pacifist and took over the Nightosphere, a chain of high-end bars all around the country. Marshal almost succumb to the family heritage of private doctors, but he broke off all ties with his mom and took the minimal position Marceline offered him.

Right now, he just had to clean up after this woman who had to have a hungover remedy after getting smashed partying all night. She puked on the bartop, and that was unforgivable.

"Hey there!"

Marshall looked up and saw a pretty brunette with pink ombre hair at the end of the bar, waving him over like a servant. She had purple tinted shades on so he can't figure out if she's drunk or high. Maybe both.

"What can I get you?" He asked as he left the puke stained rug and approached her. He knew he should ask that when he was face-to-face with the customer, but he was too tired to give a damn.

She gently placed her hand on the counter before her. "An iced coffee and your number."

He frowned, "I'm sorry, but I'm not Starbucks."

She gave an annoyed look, he knew because there's this micro scrunge on her eyebrow. He had learned reading people's expressions after working behind the counter for a two years. "Then your number will suffice." She said, though her voice not different from before.

He narrowed his eyes her, "I'm sorry but I'm not one of those serversI know I have looks, but please! I may be a potato, but I have standards!"

 

The girl stated blankly at him, "What the-- Was that a Markiplier reference, you nerd?" She said playfully.

Marshal scratched the back of his head, then folded his hands over his chest. Well, everyone has a crush on Markiplier. "What do you want?"

"You play guitar." It wasn't a question. 

Marshal stared at her in bewilderment, "How did you--"

"Listen, Marshal," her voice was hard, business-like even. "I need a guitarist for my band, and I need one by midnight. My old one broke his wrist." She glared to the side at the last sentence. She asked if he could make her a cup of ginger tea. He was baffled, she incredulously said just boil ginger in water. 

And that granted Marshall some time to think for himself. At least about three minutes until the water boils. 

Who was this girl? She doesn't seem sketchy, to be honest, she looked like one of those hipster indie bands, which he did not identify with. If she really was one of those hipster indie bands he'll just lay it gently to her, say 'thanks, no thanks', her band might make it big in the future, but their scene is not his.

He came back and gave her her drink. 

"How did you find me?" He decidely asked her, leaning his left hip on the counter, then folded his arms on his chest.

She took a sip first, then smacked her lips, "Finn Martin, know him?"

He should really message Finn, ask him how the Snow Kingdom was going. Last time they talked, Simon Petrikov--Finn's adoptive uncle-- was thinking of expanding their ski resort into a season-themed resort. Finn chided that Marshall should work for them instead of Marcy. "Yes?" He answered.

"We met him sometime ago and he said he knew a guitarist guy, so..." the vowel droned off into a small sip of ginger water, "we tracked you down, and here we are."

Marshall stared at her, "How do I know you're legit?"

She heaved in resignation, then she nodded as if saying 'that's a necessary question'. "You know 'the Flesh Curtains'?"

"Birdperson, Squanchy, and Rick Sanchez." Marshall recited religiously. The Flesh Curtains is a cult classic, the rockstar lifestyle all described and played out in each of their lyrics; equally grimy and shady, that's why they were dubbed as the grandfather of the American underground punk rock scene. Marshall found a vinyl of their debut EP from the flea market but he has yet to get a record player to listen to it. He's exhausted the internet of every article about the Flesh Curtains-- he could almost announce himself as official fanboy, as he knew the small details about each of the band members.

Mabel nodded, approving Marshall's elementary knowledge of the Flesh Curtains. "Yeah, Rick Sanchez's boyfriend--"

"Stanley Pines." Yes Marshall knew that too.

She shifted in her stool, "Yeah, he's my Grunkle Stan."

"Wait, you're-- Mabel?!" He read about Stanley Pines, he's also read a research journal written by Stanford Pines. There was a grainy picture he saw on a indie music internet magazine of both Pines in a back alleyway, grinning ear to ear, they were clearly brothers. Now he's heard of Shooting Star, her songs had popped up in his Youtube recommendations a couple of times that he had to google her up. And just from her wiki page, Marshall just put two and two together and came into a conclusion that Mabel Pines was related to Stanley and Stanford.

She lowered her sunglasses with a smile, "Sup." She folded her sunglasses and layed it on the countertop. "Can you be our guitarist?"

He grinned, showing sharp canines. "Yeah man! Totally!" He has to tell, his manager first. He'll 

"Good, 'cause we have a gig tonight and Rick broke his wrist riding a bike." 

Marshall blinked, "What? You want me to go _now_?"

"Yeah!" She hopped down from the high stool, "Come on, we need to practice a whole set!" 

"But, the bar--" He was frozen between the small door he lifted by the end of the countertop. 

"Cocktails or music, Marshall." She teased, already halfway through the room. 

"Mabel--!"

"Cocktails or music!" She exclaimed, her hand outstretched, offering to take his hand. It reminded him about those stereotypical anime intros about friendship and adventure. He looked at her, still anticipating his answer.

He grinned, "I choose adventure." And followed her out the bar.

 

 

 

 

Marceline punched Marshall's shoulder playfully, "I should've known you'll be the black sheep of the family." She reached up and ruffled his hair. 

He shook her hand off. "Yo! Bro, I'm older than you."

"By, like, five minutes!" She retorted.

Then the high-pitched screeching feedback of the speaker echoed in the entire stadium.

Marceline winced, while Marshall only stared with an emotionless face. Playing countless of gigs had made him immune to the ear-hirting sounds of speakers.

When the feedback stopped and then the sound of a cheering audience became evident a guy with gelled pink hair approached them. This was Marshall's manager.

"Hey, Marshall! Oh hello, Ms U." He greeted.

"Hey, Bub." Marceline greeted, albeit smugly. 

Bubba nodded back then faced Marshall Lee, "You ready?"

Marshall grinned, "Totes." Then followed Bubba to the stage. 

Marceline then turned to the huge screen showing the many camera angles of the stage. She watched in silence as Marshall walked to the center of the stage, the audience going deafeningly loud.

"Yo! Thanks for comin' out here!" He exclaimed into the mic, "Ya'll know this is my first solo concet after being travelling around with the amazing Mabel Pines." 

The crowd roared at the name.

"So to pay homage, I give you Shooting Star!"

Marceline couldn't help but mirror the huge grin she saw on Marshall's face. He's come a long way, he deserved this crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the story is all over the place. I have a definite story line for this but I thought of showing this through many persectives.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha.
> 
> Remember Mr Jellybean? 
> 
> Yes, Mabel stabbed him. Yes, Rick killed him. And yes, Mabel puked after. 
> 
> There'll be more to this. If you have any questions of how stuff goes around the band, just comment below and I'll answer it through a ficlet. So it's kinda like an ask fic? That sounds weird, but that's what it is. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sooo...stay tuned! :)


End file.
